


The Remembered

by Britpacker



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Episode Related, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 12:49:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4706606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Britpacker/pseuds/Britpacker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Having composed his letter to the Taylors, Trip goes in search of company.  He doesn’t realise how much he – and a certain armoury officer – might need it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Remembered

**Author's Note:**

> The Forgotten was on TV the other day and it got me thinking: of the 18 dead, Trip’s team lost one. How many lives might another senior officer be mourning? The show focusses in beautifully on one man’s pain but there must be others suffering we don’t see. Being me of course, there’s got to be a bit of hope (of the unabashed Tucker/Reed kind) at the end of it though.

“Computer, save and send.”

It was done, and if he was supposed to feel better for it well, Trip Tucker figured he’d gotten used to disappointment lately. The lead weight in his chest only slipped southward to his belly as he tucked her picture into a drawer and flipped off the monitor. Jane. Elizabeth. The seven million, and the eighteen. When had every Xindi victim got so tangled up in his mind that he couldn’t see one from the other?

T’Pol’s words echoed through his aching head, the touch of her hand on his shoulder still a tangible weight. She’d been kind; even emotional, which scared him now he thought about it. He cared for T’Pol, and something was badly wrong with her.

Another worry he didn’t need, with his good lady Enterprise hanging together on spit and chicken wire!

Sleep. Phlox said he needed rest and God knew he’d been operating without it for almost a week, but Tucker knew his limits and there was no safety valve to shut off the superheated plasma of his thoughts. Pacing his dark quarters, antsy and alone… he’d be better off in Engineering. At least he could be useful there.

Superheated plasma. Emerald fire erupting into space. Malcolm, slowly steaming up in a damaged EV suite, nothing more than a man-size boil-in-the-bag dinner kit.

 _Malcolm._  
  
Back on duty inside the hour with the minimum of whining to speed his escape from Sickbay. A little pinker than usual; hair not as glossy or well-groomed but at his post, doing his job, implacable until he’d been frogmarched back to quarters. Maybe somebody should go check the stubborn English donkey was obeying his doctor’s orders for once.

Before the thought was formed Tucker found himself ringing the chime at the Armoury Officer’s door. “Malcolm?”

“Just a minute!”

Trip cocked his head, scowling at his blurry image in slightly heat-warped metal. “I’ll get this replaced for y’, soon I can spare someone.”

“It’s hardly a priority.” As he’d expected; still in uniform, only the discarded boots and the yanked-down zipper a concession to the lieutenant’s duty status. Reed dissolved into the deep shadow that engulfed the starboard side of his interior cabin, apparently fascinated by something concealed on the other wall. “You can come in, if you want.”

“That’s the general idea of visitin’.” Biting the inside of his cheek Trip swerved by the slighter man, every suspicion confirmed when Reed countered, keeping his cheek turned from the light. “We’ve got power back across B Deck; you don’t need to sit in the dark.”

“It hides the damage.” And a whole lot more Trip finished silently when the Englishman glanced over his shoulder, the glow from his computer catching the glittering course of a tear down a finely-chiselled cheekbone. “Tea?”

“No, thanks.” It would be _nice_ , he guessed, to ignore the break in Malcolm’s voice that shattered the tiny word. _Delicate_ to withdraw, leaving a private man the dignity of thinking his grief unseen.

Not for the first time, Trip thanked his stars his Mom and Dad hadn’t raised their kids to be that kind of nice.

“What’s up, Mal?” The diminutive caused a start, bringing them eye to reddened eye. Reed shrugged.

“Letter from Pierre’s mother,” he stated, jerking his head toward the screen.

_Pierre?_

“Shit I’m sorry, Malcolm!” How come he hadn’t thought, even when he’d said the name to T’Pol? “Ensign Marcel was one of yours, wasn’t he?”

“Like Crewman Porter. And Fuller. And Dewani. They don’t call tactical and security the expendables for nothing, do they?”

Four of the eighteen. Tactical/security and armoury specialists. Malcolm’s people.

“Malcolm I’m so sorry.” Leaning close to whisper the words he could feel the air ripple with his friend’s sharp convulsion, the old stiff upper lip still fighting a battle it couldn’t win. “I never thought…”

“I’m sorry about Jane.” A brave effort that would’ve fooled most people and almost distracted Trip with a renewed stab of remorse. “She was a good ‘un.”

“She’d ‘ve been one of the best.” _And she was my friend._ The words he’d written to her parents; words Malcolm Reed could likely apply four times over. “You wrote them all?”

“Naturally.” That was more like it; rapped out with a metallic military precision that defied Reed’s dejected posture. “Sit down, Trip. The place is untidy enough without you cluttering it up.”

The last effort, Tucker discerned, had been too much. On the final word Reed’s composure broke into a hiccough and he spun away, covering his face even in the dark.  
  
“Oh, Malcolm!” Maybe his piercing strategic brain was offline because even Starfleet’s most admired tactical officer was caught unawares by a lunge that dragged him hard and fast into a crushing hug. “It’s okay buddy, c’mon it’s alright to cry. I’ve gotcha it’s okay, you can let it out now.”

Crooning helpless reassurance he negotiated a course to where Malcolm’s bunk should be, drawing his distraught host onto his lap when the man would have squirmed away. “You can’t hold it in like that Malcolm, or it’ll drive you crazy,” he murmured into Reed’s soft dark hair, nuzzling his nose deep through the satiny strands. “Hell, I should know! I’ve been tryin’ it for the last nine months.”

“I hope you’re not” – _sniff_ \- “expecting that” – _hic_ – “psychology degree, Commander.”

It took a moment for Trip to translate the choked-out words; then a few seconds more for their sting to fade. “Yeah, guess I’ve been pretty obvious to most folks for a while,” he admitted, pleased by the guilty gurgle his candour inspired. Keeping it slow and steady he smoothed one hand down the younger man’s spine and up again, coming to rest between the shoulder blades and letting the warmth of the body in his arms seep through the rough twill of his uniform. “And I’m sorry, Malcolm. I’ve been a jerk to a whole lot of people, includin’ you.”

By the waggle of the head his cheek rested against, Tucker gathered his sentiments weren’t entirely shared. “You _were_ a jerk,” Reed mumbled, evidently willing to be honest so long as he didn’t have to look his friend in the eye. “But we – I – understood. Oh God Trip, so many lives wasted!”

“I know.” Special lives, all of them. Lizzie; Jane; Ensign Marcel, whose name he hadn’t even known was Pierre. “Believe me buddy, I know.”

He lost track of time just sitting there in the dark, hearing Malcolm’s sobs soften into long, shuddering breaths that racked his lean frame as he fought to regain control. “Sorry. Again,” the Brit managed at length, pulling himself away to collapse at Tucker’s side. “It’s the response from his mum that broke me. I – I thought they’d get easier to write, the letters, but they don’t, and now…”

“Gimme a minute.” By dint of an educated guess and some fumbling Trip found the control panel and raised the lights on their lowest setting, grabbing the topmost couple from an untouched box of tissues; proof that even in his most private moments Malcolm had denied himself the release of all that pent-up pain. “You look like hell.”

“With the greatest of respect – have you met a mirror lately?” Gratefully Malcolm rubbed his stinging eyes. “She thanked me – Madame Marcel. Her only child’s just died under my command and she wrote straight back to thank me. It’s just…”

“Easy, it’s okay.” _It_ wasn’t, and Trip wasn’t sure _it_ ever would be again but right now his pessimistic feelings didn’t matter. For the first time since he couldn’t remember when, someone else’s suffering felt deeper, more piercing than his own.

“Can I…” Whatever the lady had said, it had gotten through all Lieutenant Reed’s personal hull plating. The dark head dipped again.

Suddenly, leaving him sitting on the bed all alone was the last thing Tucker wanted to do but he’d asked the question; his curiosity had been piqued and there was no going back. “That tea sounds good about now.”

“I’ll get the kettle on.” Something to focus on, a small, routine chore. Trip allowed himself an inward smile, reminded again how similar the reserved Armoury Officer was to the usually extrovert Chief Engineer beneath his imperturbable façade. Propping his chin on steepled fingers he leaned toward the screen and began to read.

_Dear Lieutenant Reed,_

_I hope I don’t impose upon you at such a difficult time but I could not leave unanswered your most compassionate letter, which Starfleet forwarded to me this morning. Both Laure and I were so very touched by your kindness and the generous things you said about our dear Pierre._

“Malcolm? Who’s Laure?”

“His fiancée.” The faintest _ching_ of teaspoon against china betrayed the Englishman’s flinch. “They got engaged when we – the last time we went home.”

So while Trip Tucker had been making his grim pilgrimage to the blackened chasm formerly known as Florida, somewhere in France a man had been celebrating the happiest moment of his life. The world worked, as Granny Johnson had oft’time said, in some pretty damn mysterious ways.

A steaming mug, chipped around the rim, smacked onto the desk by his elbow. “I’m almost out of milk,” Malcolm told him gruffly. Tucker shrugged.

“No problem.” He wouldn’t taste it anyway.

Florida. Malcolm standing beside him, struck dumb by the devastation but never more than a couple of metres away. A good friend. Always there when you needed him.

A rock.

Slowly Trip raised his head to study the man leaning over his shoulder, transfixed by the words standing out brightly white on the computer’s midnight screen. That rock might be weather-worn by recent storms; crumbling a little at the edges, when you looked close enough. But it still stood strong, defiant against whatever the Xindi and the Expanse could throw.

“I’m glad you’re here, Malcolm.”

“Well these _are_ my quarters.”

“Smartass. Drink your tea.”

“Aye, sir.” Visibly drained by the minimal effort of banter Reed slumped back on the bed, cradling the cup in his hands. Subliminally aware he wasn’t likely to drink from his either, Tucker sighed and returned to reading.

_He wrote to us both every week and each letter ended with so much hope and confidence! My son was deeply proud and grateful that he was chosen to serve on Enterprise; he would be flattered to learn that you remembered him so well from his involvement with the phase pistol project._

_I hope you know, my dear sir, how much Pierre admired both Captain Archer and yourself. When he told me that Enterprise had been instructed to pursue the evil creatures who attacked our planet he told me: Maman, we will do this. With the captain and Lieutenant Reed to lead us, how can we fail!_

_I can’t imagine what a terrible time this must be for you! I hope very much that the wonderful spirit of Enterprise, of which my son spoke so often, will support you through these awful days._

_You are thoughtful, to ask about Pierre’s possessions. I must admit there are some small items that Laure and I would much appreciate knowing were safe until you are able, as you so kindly promise, to restore them to us._  
  
_For myself: I know he valued it too highly to ever wear it but my late father gave his gold watch to my son, to mark his graduation from the Starfleet Academy. I add the thanks of my poor heartbroken Laure, who asks that you be so good as to retrieve a painting from his quarters for her. It shows Blois from the far bank of the Loire, almost the very spot where they met, and was her last gift to him before this dreadful mission began._  
  
_As to the rest; I would ask firstly that you enquire among his close friends, whose names you know, I am sure, much better than I, if any of them would like some small memento before they are packed away. Although I write in English, I’m aware that you speak excellent French and I know Pierre would be honoured if you would accept his leather-bound copy of Les Miserables. It was, you may know, a great favourite of his._

_Your approval meant a great deal to my son, Lieutenant. That you should see such promise in him as to make some lucky starship captain a fine armoury officer one day would have been to him the highest compliment. You cannot imagine how deeply his dear Laure and I appreciate it. I hope one day, when your mission has succeeded, that I might be able to thank you in person for all that you did for my beloved boy; and for your great kindness to his fiancée and myself in these difficult times._

_God speed your journeys and keep you safe, dear Mr Reed._

_Marie-Claire Marcel._

“Oh, boy.” Tears dripped off his chin and irritably Tucker dashed them away. “That’s…”

“Isn’t it?” The tissue box was thrust his way and Trip seized a handful, noisily blowing his runny nose. “She’s lost her only son and yet she’s thinking about what I’m going through. We can’t let them win, Trip! There’s so much _good_ on that stupid planet of ours, we can’t just let the Reptilians destroy it!”

“We won’t. Even if it means workin’ with that bastard Degra we’re going to stop them deploying that weapon, Malcolm. You have to believe that.”

“I’m trying. It’s bloody hard, sometimes.”

“I know.” A well-cut top lip, just a little too thin to be classically perfect, wobbled. “C’mere.”

He wasn’t sure which of them was more surprised when Malcolm launched right into his open arms. “You don’t hafta be superhuman, Mal. We’re all hurting but like his mom said, it’s that old Enterprise spirit that’ll get us through. You want to go find those things for the lady?”

It was a dumb suggestion, he knew the moment the words left his tongue. “I can’t - not like this. I can’t let them see me falling apart.”

“You’re not fallin’ apart, you’re being human.” T’Pol would be proud of him, but if she really envied this torrent of pain she was a bigger fool than she knew. “And – hell, Malcolm you’ve always been there for me when I needed someone and I didn’t always appreciate it the way I should. I’m here for you now, so you just let me know, okay?”

Reed’s sharp chin dug into his chest in a nod. “Thanks, Trip,” he muttered, the words leaking warm and moist through three layers of cloth. “I wouldn’t want to be a bother…”

“You mean the world to me, Malcolm Reed.” And there it was, with the blinding clarity of a star gone supernova. The truth all the emotional shit of the last nine months had buried so deep in his heart Charles Tucker the Third hadn’t known it was there at all. “Seeing you hurt like this, knowing you’ve been keepin’ it all in and I’ve done nothing, it’s like havin’ a knife stuck in my guts. If there was anything I could do…”

“Unless you’ve learned to turn back time?” With the robotic steadiness of a man under deep hypnosis Reed drew back to gaze into the watery blue eyes of his best friend, disbelief chasing the misery momentarily away. “I only wanted to help, you know. When you heard about Elizabeth I wanted so badly to _do_ something…”

“You stood by me; hell, you even came home, just ‘cause you knew I needed somebody there. You kept right on being my friend, no matter how much of a jackass I was. Nobody could’ve done more than that, Mal.”

Swamped by his sudden epiphany Trip could feel himself starting to tremble again but for the first time in months, the sensation was joyous. Elation swept out of his toes, tightening every muscle with a ping of near-climactic bliss. Drowning in a pair of wintry-ocean eyes, adrift on a sea of purely positive emotion, he did the first crazy thing that came into his head.

He kissed Malcolm Reed.

He was just beginning to regret the wild impulse (and wonder what weapons Enterprise’s resident gun-freak might have hidden under his pillow) when the frozen mouth beneath him came alive.

Those lips, so thin and firm-looking from a distance, softened, then parted to release the sweetest of sighs, suddenly pliant to whatever pressure Trip applied as he moved, slanting to lick from one upturned corner across their length and nipping the lower to rosy plumpness on his way. Something pressed at his nape, long, fine-boned fingers winding through the short hair. Time slowed, then jump-started when a questing tongue-tip swiped his.

Tucker felt its reverberations run down and out through the soles of his boots.

He could have kept kissing Malcolm, mapping that sweet-sharp mouth forever, had the pesky necessity of snatching a breath not intruded. “What was that for?” the Englishman murmured, his head lolling backward into Trip’s cupped hands.  
  
“Because I love you, Mister Reed.” The formality, incongruous with anyone else, was natural with Malcolm. “I’m startin’ to think I fell a long time ago and I’ve just been too dumb to see it ‘til today. You don’t – you’re not gonna freak out, are y’?”

“I don’t think so; and stop peering at my pillow. The captain won’t let me keep a phase pistol under there any more.”

Trip narrowed his eyes. “That’s a joke, right?”

“It runs counter to my rather useful reputation, but yes.” The quip punctured the tight bubble of tension enough to let in another lungful of air and Tucker gulped it hard. “I – you must know how I feel about you, Trip. Surely it’s been obvious for years!”

“Malcolm Reed, obvious? That’d be the day!” Still high on his moment of revelation Trip doubted he could process another even as it smacked him in the face. “You’re –you love me?”

A nod. “C’mon, Malcolm! You’ve got to let me hear it!”

The challenge got a predictable response. Cuddled up on a superior officer’s lap, Reed damn near hit his classic pose. _Atten-shun!_ “I love you,” he said loudly, daring the man to doubt. Endearingly tentative, he ghosted a finger along a swollen lower lip. Then, more softly: “I love you.”

“You scared the crap out of me today.” If they were playing Confessions, better get that out of the way too. “When I realised you’d passed out in that damn suit… then seeing you cry tonight… I never want to see you hurting, Malcolm. It’s worse than bein’ hurt myself.”

“Believe me, I know the feeling.” Bone-dry, the words still vibrated with emotion while the wandering finger found its way to the one little childhood chickenpox scar in the middle of Trip’s cheek. “I wanted so much to take away your pain, and I couldn’t. All I could do was watch you going through hell and try to make sure you understood I was there.”

“I always knew, even if I’ve had a lousy way ‘f showin’ it.” Given what he’d just learned about Malcolm’s longstanding feelings Trip suspected his recent infatuation with a certain screwed-up Vulcan could be added to his private list of _crimes against Lieutenant Reed_. “I – c’n I stay tonight?”

Even in an emotional mess, Malcolm could freeze a room in a nanosecond. “I’m – I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” he stuttered. Tucker’s hands came up in the universal gesture of surrender.

“Now you’re a mighty attractive man, Lieutenant, and if Ah thought you were up for it Ah’d not be fightin’ y’ off,” he drawled, schooling himself to ignore the warm, liquid sensation that sloshed through his loins in time with the words. “I just – aw, shit! I don’t want to be alone right now, and I sure as hell don’t want to leave you like this. Just let me hold you tonight and we can talk about – well, _other stuff_ , when we’re feeling better. Okay?”

Reed bit his lip so hard a crimson droplet oozed over the supple flesh. Delicately, Tucker wiped it away, licking the coppery tang from his fingertip. “Please,” the younger man breathed. Trip nodded.

Smoothly, efficiently, he stripped down to his underwear, outer garments tossed over the single chair while Reed set about the business of folding every item before placing it in the laundry. Once down to bright blue tee and boxers, he hesitated.

“Wassup?”

“I, er, don’t usually wear more than my drawers to bed,” the Englishman explained, not quite bold enough to meet his puzzled stare. “I was thinking...”

“Whatever you’re comfortable with, Mal.” _Damn_. That well-formed, pale chest with its dusky little nipples and that sheen of fine dark hair. Nothing he’d not seen a hundred times in decon, Tucker acknowledged, but how come he’d never realised how touchable it was before?

Evidently satisfied, Reed wrenched the last unwanted layer over his head and hopped between the sheets, lifting the upper clear. Unhesitating, Tucker slipped in.

For a split second both men tensed. Then with a sigh Malcolm relaxed, letting his head drop against the bigger man’s shoulder. Relieved, Trip draped an arm across his midriff. A few more subtle shifts and they were spooned, the blond curled around the brunet, his back against the bulkhead. “This is nice, Mal.”

Softly, barely above a whisper. “Yes.”

Tucker tightened his hold and let his gritty eyes close. “Sleep well, darlin’” he rumbled, asleep before his companion could reply.

*

The instant awareness began to crawl in, he noticed it. The difference.

He felt refreshed. Rested. Ready for anything.

Up to and including, as Tucker discovered by cracking open one heavy eye, finding Malcolm Reed’s dark head burrowed in to the side of his neck.

They’d gotten pretty active in their sleep, winding up with the Southerner flat on his back, the Englishman draped across his upper body: nose in the side of Trip’s neck, right arm thrown over his chest and his leg…

Trip inhaled deeply, zeroing in on a warm, welcome pressure against his thigh. It had been a long time since he’d experienced it, but the sensation was unforgettable. Half-mast and gently rising as consciousness returned, Malcolm’s penis nuzzled his leg, triggering the inevitable reaction in Trip’s tender groin. “Hey there, Handsome,” he whispered.

“Mmmm, morning.” Eyes the misty grey-blue of an Atlantic summer dawn swept his face, the wavelets of their serenity lapping over him in the few moments it took before Reed’s awareness of his entirely predictable condition asserted itself. “Oh fuck! Trip, I’m sorry!” he stammered, inadvertently increasing the erotic friction in his clumsy efforts to get away. Tucker shot out a peremptory hand, stilling the uncoordinated movement before it could kick either one of them onto the floor.

“At ease, Lieutenant,” he said kindly, sweeping sheet and boxers clear to lay bare his swollen member. “It’s a natural reaction and I don’t know about you, but I kinda like it.”

Reed wet his lips, fixated on the blond’s erection. “It’s been a while,” he managed hoarsely, helpless to stop himself reaching out. “Can I…”

Tucking his hands behind him on the pillow, Tucker tried out his cockiest smile. “Why dontcha bring that gorgeous boner over here for a proper introduction, darlin’?” he crooned.

Malcolm’s throat convulsed, too dry to allow a verbal response but he slipped down his shorts, keeping a stormy gaze on Trip’s face as he crawled up the narrow bunk and dipped his hips at just the right moment to graze their arousals together. For an instant Trip felt the universe fade out.

“C’mere,” he growled, grabbing at the smaller man. On a yelp Reed collapsed forward, hips already rolling, grinding his groin into the engineer’s with an abandon that shocked and thrilled Trip. “Malcolm – won’t last!” he panted bucking up to meet the brunet’s urgent motions. He caught the briefest glimpse of a feral smile before his mouth was ravaged in a brief, blistering kiss.

“Don’t – can’t – oh God, _Trip!_ ” Reed panted the words against his bruised lips, groping clumsily between their bellies in a senseless whirl of need. “Too much,” he managed before his head fell back, eyes rolling as the tidal surge of release crashed over him.

“Oh, yeah.” Wet heat surging inside and out; golden starbursts through his brain as his tightened balls broke loose and the pleasure, raw and primal, turned him molten. Tucker clutched at the shuddering form against him, feeling his own convulsions rippling back from Reed’s slumped body until eventually, too exhausted to hold on, Malcolm slithered off to his side, eyes closed and a dreamy smile on his swollen lips.

“Don’t know about you, Mal but I could take on the whole Xindi council single-handed about now.”

“I’d rather take ‘em out with a single large explosion, but – likewise.”

He hadn’t had the time, and Tucker suspected that was a very good thing, to imagine what _the morning after_ would be with Malcolm Reed. He was pretty sure he couldn’t have invented anything more surreal than this.

“You’re okay with this whole – us thing?” he floundered, the sweep of a hand down their semen-sticky lengths all the explanation he was capable of giving. Malcolm favoured him with an unexpectedly sweet smile.

“I’m not sure I know how this whole _us thang_ has happened, but – yes. I’ve loved you for ages, Trip. There were moments, a long time ago, when I’d catch you looking at me and think perhaps…”

He paused, pushing a hand carelessly back through a chaotic tumble of rich chocolate hair. “Then I’d pull myself up and realise how fucking pathetic I was being. This – this is beyond my wildest imagination. Are you sure…”

“Yep.” No longer surprised by his own certainty Tucker pushed himself up to a sitting position, gazing down seriously at the younger man. “I’ve been a mess for so long, Malcolm but yesterday – heck, first you get poached on the hull, then I find you cryin’ alone… it’s like the universe just decided to smack me so hard it’s shook my brain back online. While everything’s been goin’ crazy you’ve just… been there. Whenever I’ve looked around; whenever I’ve needed a friend. It’s always been you.”

He sucked in a breath, willing himself to finish without breaking down again. “Last night I realised I wanna be all that for you, Malcolm. You never have to face anything alone, just – just please, let me be there!”

“Oh, Trip.” _Reeds don’t cry._

It had been his mantra; a guiding principle that wound through his life from the first scraped knees of childhood to the bitterness of a dozen different losses, physical and emotional in his teens and on through all the trials of maturity. Even here, in the midst of Hell, Malcolm had striven to live up to it.

Now a simple, earnest declaration of love broke through. The tears fell, and he didn’t care.

Strong arms gathered him. Warm, sweet breath whispered through his hair. “I love you, Malcolm. It doesn’t matter how we got here, we’re together now and I promise, you don’t have to face anything alone again. I tried, an’ it almost killed me.”

“There were times I thought it would.”

“You and me both buddy, but you’re smarter than me. You’re not gonna make the mistakes I did, knowing there’s a better way.”

“A much better way,” Reed affirmed, closing the words in with a long, slow smooch that was only broken by the aggravating peep of his alarm. “Oh, bollocks!”

“Mighty fine ones, Mister Reed.” Gently Tucker gave one of his new lover’s a squeeze, almost propelling the man to the ceiling. “Guess we’d better get up now.”

“The captain wants us ready to enter the subspace corridor by eleven hundred hours.” Doubt darkened the Brit’s voice before, determinedly, he pushed himself off the bed and padded toward his closet. “And I ought to rescue those things from Marcel’s quarters before we make the attempt – they’ll be safer boxed up in storage than clattering around on D Deck.”

“Want a hand?” Flight-suit only would do for the short trip back to his quarters Tucker decided, screwing the remainder of yesterday’s uniform into a ball to tuck under his arm. Reed’s angular features tightened. “Okay – I’d probably prefer to do it alone too, but the offer’s there, Mal. You need me, you holler.”

“Aye, sir.”

The standard response was topped with a very private peck to the cheek before Reed turned his guest on his heel.

Before Trip knew what was happening he was outside the armoury officer’s door with the junior officer smirking good-naturedly up at him. “Breakfast in ten?” Malcolm suggested. Trip nodded.

“First one there chooses the pancake topping,” he challenged. Malcolm’s laughter chased him all the way back to his quarters.

Five minutes later, with a smile on his face and renewed hope in his bursting heart, Trip Tucker sallied forth toward the mess hall and whatever the universe dared to throw his way.

Even if it did start off with peanut butter on his pancakes.


End file.
